


The Fighter Still Remains

by SilverWolf3313



Series: The Blind Leading the Blind [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Blind Peter Parker, But it isn't explicitly said, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Peter (but only slightly), Hurt/Comfort, Matt is like Peter's dad, New York City, Protective Matt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 13:43:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18411821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverWolf3313/pseuds/SilverWolf3313
Summary: “Why are you lying on the roof with cracked ribs and broken fingers?” Matt growled, not in the mood for Spider-Man’s quips and nonsense.Spider-Man chuckled. “Would you believe me if I told you I was chasing a rare albino pigeon who happened to steal my delicious french fries right out of my hand?”





	The Fighter Still Remains

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, beautiful people!  
> This idea hit me like a ton of bricks, so I, of course, wrote it down and am posting it here. Long story short, Peter is blind and lives with Matt Murdock (another blind superhero). It's just one chapter in this multi-work series, so expect more stories to come! Now, on with the work!

When Matt Murdock, mild-mannered lawyer by day, Hell’s Kitchen’s very own Daredevil by night, met Spider-Man on a roof at 3 a.m., he wasn’t happy. The young superhero was laying on his back, heart beating rapidly as his chest heaved, the air rushing in and out from his open mouth. Matt landed heavily on the roof a few feet away, boots clunking heavily.

“Hey, Spooky. Long-time no see,” Spider-Man breathlessly chirped, raising a hand in a meager salute. Matt didn’t reply, merely striding over to the prone teen, crossing his arms.

“What, you don’t like ‘Spooky?’ What about ‘DeeDee?’” Matt pursed his lips but remained silent. After a few moments, Spider-Man shrugged. “Nah, I’m sure the most intimidating man in New York wouldn’t want to be associated with Dexter’s crazy sister,” the young voice continued, his voice hitching slightly as he inhaled.

Matt remained silent, focusing his senses on the teen before him. Every time he took a breath, two of his ribs groaned. Matt inwardly cringed but was relieved when there was no cracking. A few of his fingers grated slightly, but the fractures had been set, most likely by Spider-Man himself. _If you’d been patient and more careful, you wouldn’t be in this situation,_ Matt mentally chided but held his tongue.

“Why are you lying on the roof with cracked ribs and broken fingers?” Matt growled, not in the mood for Spider-Man’s quips and nonsense.

Spider-Man chuckled. “Would you believe me if I told you I was chasing a rare albino pigeon who happened to steal my delicious french fries right out of my hand?”

Silence.

“What? It did happen. Haven’t seen the sneaky bastard since. He’d better sleep with one eye open because I’m hungry for some good old-fashioned revenge.”

“Spider-Man,” Matt gruffly warned as he struggled to bury his amusement deep inside himself. If the kid was making jokes, then he was okay (somewhat). Matt’s worry abated slightly, but he could feel the grey hairs poking up through his scalp. If Spider-Man kept doing this, Matt would be completely grey by his early forties. When he didn’t answer, Matt cleared his throat, raising a solitary eyebrow beneath his mask. The younger vigilante groaned, squeezing his fingers. He bit his lip as they flared with pain.

“I tracked some of Fisk’s goons from just outside of Central Park. Thought I could get the drop on them.” He let out a humorless laugh but gritted his teeth as his ribs shifted. “Guess the joke was on me. I snuck into their warehouse, but they were waiting for me.” The large white lenses narrowed. “I fought a few of them off, but one got a lucky swing. Caught me right in my ribs with an old pipe.”

“And your fingers too, it seems,” Matt added, chuckling internally as the kid groaned indignantly.

“Yeah. Can’t really fight or web-swing when your fingers look like broken toothpicks.” His jaw clenched, bone grinding together. “I got the hell out of there, losing them a few blocks back. I was just taking a few minutes to myself, then you showed up.”

The two remained quiet for a few moments, Daredevil processing the information Spider-Man had just presented to him. What the kid had done was insanely reckless, his own regard for his safety thrown out the window (not unlike his himself when he first started). Some small part of Matt sympathized with him as he wheezed on the concrete, but he knew he had to knock some sense into Spider-Man (verbally, of course; the kid had had enough abuse for the day).

But Spider-Man beat him to the punch, gingerly sitting up. “I know, I know. I was stupid, going in blind and underestimating Fisk’s men.” With preternatural ease, Spider-Man turned his head, the black cloth locking with Matt’s red lenses. “But I’m not going to apologize for standing up against a leech like Kingpin. And you can’t stop me from doing it again.”

His voice had taken on a deadly edge, wholly unlike the cheerful superhero that patrolled New York’s streets. Spider-Man was daring the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen to argue with him. All of the disappointed words that were ready to fly died behind Matt’s teeth, his anger leaking from his muscles.

“Alright,” Matt breathed. The teen’s heart rate jumped in surprise, but he barely moved, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “I’m not going to stop you from swinging around the city. _But,_ ” he urged as the young man opened his mouth. A small click sounded from beneath Spider-Man’s mask, and the older man continued. “Don’t be afraid to call for backup. Fisk is dangerous.”

“But you _never_ ask for help,” the superhero chimed in. The glare he received would have incinerated the teen on the spot.

“Just...don't be like me,” Matt lamely finished. God, he _really_ needed to work on expressing his emotions.

Spider-Man twisted his lips but nodded. “Alright, head on home,” the older man instructed.

“But--”

“No. You’re hurt, and you’re still going to school in the morning..” Spider-Man groaned but gingerly eased himself off the roof. “I’ll meet you there,” Matt added.

Spider-Man nodded, stepping off the ledge. The soft _thwip_ met Matt’s ears, the teen swinging over the streets. Matt held his breath, waiting for the teen to plummet to the pavement. A secondary _thwip_ sounded a few blocks away, sending a wave of relief down his spine. Following Spider-Man’s lead, Matt leapt from the roof.

* * *

 

Peter sighed as he entered the apartment. The familiar smell of well-worn wood and soft lavender had him relaxing, his spider-sense ebbing away. He hissed as his fingers twinged slightly, but was happy to note that they were already mending. Thanks to his advanced healing, they would be better by morning, with no signs of the injury.

 _Thank you, spidey powers_ , Peter thought to himself. Ripping the flimsy mask from his face, the smell of dried blood and sweat pounded his nostrils. “Ugh,” he groaned, arm gently circling his ribs.

“Do they still hurt?” Matt asked, dropping silently next to Peter. The creaking of armor accompanied by a sharp _click_ told Peter that Matt had removed his own helmet.

“When is Melvin gonna be done with my suit?” Peter deflected, hobbling into the kitchen. Although he knew the layout of the apartment like the back of his hand, he still trailed a hand beside him. He peeled the gloves from his hands, each making a wet _splat_ as they were discarded. Matt sighed, his sightless eyes turning skyward.  
  
“Melvin is talented, but he’s not a miracle worker. We’ll know it’s ready when he sends a message.” Peter frowned, his irritation flaring.

“I can’t just sit here, Matt,” Peter insisted hotly as he fumbled for the faucet. The tang of metal and water permeated the sink as cool liquid pooled in Peter’s hands. Pumping a squirt of odorless soap onto his hands, Peter worked it into a lather, the scent of blood easing slightly. Peter scrubbed his hands ferociously, working out the blood from beneath his fingernails where he could feel it solidifying. It was the only thing keeping him from actively punching something.

A sigh. “I know, Peter. But you’ve got to be patient.”

The teen scowled. He angrily shut the water off, his hands tingling from the scrub-down. “I’m trying. But I can’t ‘be patient.’ I can hear _everything_ , Matt.” His guardian didn’t reply, pausing in the removal of his armor. “I...I try to block it out...but it just won’t stop. And I _know_ I’m not quite ready, that I have to keep training, but I can’t ignore it. I just feel so useless sitting here and not doing anything.” He breathed deeply, releasing the death grip he had on the countertop, silently thanking whatever powers above him that he didn’t break it (again). “What good is it to have these powers but I can’t use them? If I can save somebody, why should I stay here?”

Heavily soled boots clunked across the floor. Matt sidled next to Peter, his hand barely touching Peter’s in an act of reassurance. He remained quiet for a few moments, his teeth worrying his lip.

“I used to be so jealous of Foggy,” he finally said. A confused noise came from Peter, but Matt plunged on. “He could fall asleep as if the sounds of the city didn’t exist.” Matt twisted his fingers together, lost in thought. “While he slept like a baby, I wouldn’t even fall asleep. I could hear _everything._ And the weight of the knowledge of what was happening in my city was crushing me.

“I kept telling myself that when I ignored it, I couldn’t have done anything.” He breathed. “Then, one day, a few months after I moved here, I had to do _something_.”

Peter turned his head towards Matt, landing somewhere next to his face. Matt had never divulged this information about himself before. “I didn’t plan on being Daredevil. I just wanted to help that little girl. I realized when I was beating the shit out of her asshole father that there were others like her. And I could help them, just like how I helped her.”

He swallowed. “It took me a while to find out what worked best for me, to understand the limits of my powers and what they could do in the field.”

“Didn’t Stick teach you?” Peter quietly added a sharp inhale coming from Matt.

“That was a long time ago. Plus, it was a lot of me figuring out the vigilante thing on my own,” Matt said.

“Matt Murdock, the man-with-a-plan, figuring stuff out on the fly? Who _are_ you?” Peter gasped, chuckling as Matt nudged him half-heartedly.

“What I’m trying to say is that don’t put so much pressure on yourself. You can’t save everyone.”

Peter frowned, his hair falling down in front of his face. Glimpses of a happy couple rushed across his mind’s eye, accentuated by the powerful bursts of gunfire. “I know,” he said, the words so light they could be sent away in a gust of wind. He spoke quietly, yet his tone bellowed. A heavy, gentle arm wrapped itself around Peter’s shoulders. He melted into the hold, warmth seeping into his cold body. Matt didn’t say anything, merely squeezing the teen’s shoulder.

The two stood together, both understanding the unspoken support between them. Peter was happy to remain there forever, safe and comfortable in Matt’s hold. The older man released an audible sniff. “Kid, not to kill the mood, but you reek.”

“Not like you smell any better, old man,” Peter shot back. He wiggled out of Matt’s arms, gently shoving him away. Matt laughed dryly, the rasp causing Peter to smirk minutely.

“I get first dibs on the shower, then.”

“No way!” Peter hollered, rushing into his room. He frantically stripped out of his costume, grabbing his towel from his door. “You always use all the hot water!”

Matt laughed again as Peter rushed into the bathroom. The door slammed with a resounding _bang,_ the teen claiming the shower for his own.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I will have other works coming out relating to this series. They may be out of order, so I'll be adding a timeline if you want to read it out of order. Thanks so much for reading and leaving a comment and/or kudos! If you have any questions or ideas, don't be afraid to reach out! Until next time!  
> (Title is courtesy of Simon & Garfunkel's "The Boxer")


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